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Sonnet for Nevan Baker
A rough‑hewn bark holds what we must know:
A life cut short, a mother’s cry unheard;
Orlando’s sky lies bruised with shadowed woe,
Where justice sleeps and truth is but a word.
And still his name refuses to be stilled—
Its rolling thunder shakes the silent park;
It warms the air the night had once left chilled,
A defiant pulse that beats against the dark.
We speak because his story cannot fade,
A life is more than one final, heavy breath;
Because the debt of truth must yet be paid,
And justice won't be suppressed by death.
O Nevan—your remembrance is a light,
A fire we carry through the longest night.
